


On a Silver Platter

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Beholding Kink (The Magnus Archives), Bets & Wagers, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Manipulation, Mirror Sex, Power Dynamics, Season 1, Semi-Public Sex, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: When Elias asks Jon to accompany him at an event where he plans to purchase a new artefact for the Institute collection, Jon thinks that’s all it will be. A boring night, a bit of small talk, and maybe finally getting to spend some quality time with Elias.But things don’t go quite as planned, and Jon finds his horizons opened in new and unexpected ways. Because the contest for the artefact is not strictly monetary, and it centers on him.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89





	On a Silver Platter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winternacht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/gifts).



> Originally started for Rare Male Slash Exchange some months back, and finally finished. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Many thanks to syrupwit for the beta!

“Now tell me, Archivist, how have you been adjusting to your new position?”

Jon took a deep breath and tried to keep his attention on the man standing before him. Someone important, because of course he was, _everyone_ was someone important. Which was one of the many reasons this event was proving utterly intolerable.

What was his name again? Jon was sure they’d been introduced, but with all the people he’d met tonight, they’d started to blur. He took a gulp of his wine, and cast his gaze around the ballroom, hoping he’d find some excuse to escape. But the press of people seemed to have lessened, the remaining figures quiet and oddly mechanical in their motions. He frowned, clutching his glass tighter.

“Archivist?”

“Sorry, I— It’s a great responsibility.”

His own words seemed to come at a great distance, and he realized the orchestra that had been playing in the background all night also seemed to have faded. They must be on break. For the best, really. The music had set him a bit on edge, even though Elias had assured him it was standard classical fare. And well, it did sound like it, whenever Jon was paying attention. So it was probably just nerves.

“I imagine. Your predecessor was in the position for many years, wasn’t she?”

Jon forced himself to look into the man’s pale blue eyes, and found his smile didn’t reach them. Did he have something against Gertrude? Or was it Jon he found wanting? It didn’t matter, he just needed to be not here.

“She was.” His gaze drifted to the floor, and his stomach lurched not for the first time that night. When he’d seen it the first time, he’d thought the black stone spotted with glittering flecks of silvery-gold rather breathtaking. But as the hours wore on, he was finding that feeling more and more literal.

“Are you feeling well, Archivist?”

The man took a step towards him; Jon took a step back. He set the glass onto a tray held by a blank faced server, and forced out a mumbled apology.

“I’m fine, I just need some air.”

He turned blindly away, heading for the first door he saw. Yes, it was absurd—juvenile, even—to attempt to hide like he had as a teenager, strong-armed into attending the Summer Ball. Though he supposed it wasn’t an entirely inappropriate comparison. He certainly felt rather duped, given Elias had told him it would be an auction, not a protracted formal party.

“Ah, Archivist!”

Jon gritted his teeth, forcing his expression into something he hoped was sufficiently neutral before turning to whatever pompous idiot had prevented his escape. Wherever the guests had momentarily vanished to, they seem to have returned in full force, along with the orchestra. He nearly groaned when he saw it was old Simon Fairchild again. A very important donor and their host, Elias had told him, before he’d vanished on Jon and let the sharks descend.

“Hello,” Jon said, hoping his curt reply would be taken for the rejection it was.

Unfortunately, Simon didn’t seem bothered by his cold demeanor. No one here seemed to mind it—the man he’d just escaped had even called him charming—which meant this was even worse than the Summer Ball. Because instead of roundly ignoring him, everyone seemed completely desperate to capture his attention, or focus theirs on him.

“You really are the belle of the ball, aren’t you? But then, we’ve all been so interested to meet you, with Elias keeping you locked away.” Simon rested a hand on Jon’s shoulder, one Jon immediately shrugged off. If Elias wanted someone to butter up guests, he should’ve brought Tim. Or anyone except Jon.

"You really are quite piquant company, Archivist,” Simon continued. “I'm coming to understand what Elias sees in you. I think there's a chance you might even go far. Well, in so much as any of us can be said to truly cover any real distance."

Simon gave Jon a toothy grin that seemed far too wide for his face, and raised his absurdly expensive wine in a toast as he passed him a glass. One that Jon was happy to take, if only so he had an excuse to drink more, in the vain hope that this latest infusion of alcohol would somehow make time go faster. Or at least numb the irritation of its failure to pass.

"Thank you, Mr. Fairchild. I do hope I can live up to Elias's expectations." He tugged at his suit jacket, certain for the hundredth time that there was something off about it, that it had ended up askew, that it didn't quite fit right. Maybe that was why everyone kept staring. God, he hated this sort of event.

Not that he regularly attended, as he’d reminded Elias when he had first proposed this little night out. Oh, there'd been the odd time when he was a researcher, but then he hadn't been the only one. When the Institute itself hosted events, Elias would often make sure a handful of employees were in attendance. While it had never been Jon's favorite thing, those had been bearable, allowing him to lurk off to one side and munch on canapes, sharing exasperated looks with Sasha while Tim tried to chat up donors. Well, mostly bearable, if he ignored the one unfortunately memorable time when Martin managed to somehow trip over an entire table and douse Jon in punch.

It said something about how Jon's night was going that right now, he desperately wished Martin were here to drown him in punch. At least it would be an excuse to escape Fairchild's incessant chatter. To find somewhere calm, and not so terribly bright, and just rest for a moment away from prying eyes.

"Oh, I think you've already lived up to some of them." Fairchild gave him a horrid wink, filled with meaning that was not lost on Jon, as much as he wanted to be allowed the delusion that he was only here for business reasons. "And do call me Simon." He patted Jon's arm like a fond uncle, before lifting his hand in energetic greeting.

"Ah, Elias! I'd wondered where you'd wandered off to. Taking in the sights, I hope?"

Jon's heart beat wildly and he started to turn, only to be stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder just slightly too close to his neck. The intimacy of the gesture wasn't lost on him, emphasized as it was by the way Elias's fingers dug into a bruise he'd left earlier, forcing Jon to drown his gasp in wine.

Though the wine did little to stem the sudden surge of all too recent memory. The way Elias had turned the supple leather belt over in his hand, the suggestion quite clear as he looked Jon over. A look that had turned into more, Jon's pants around his knees, gripping the chest of drawers with white knuckled hands as the blows came down mercilessly. Leaving Jon utterly boneless, more at ease than he'd been in days, skin still smarting as Elias pushed him against the wall and bit into his shoulder.

Heat crept across Jon's cheeks. They'd almost been late, and though he wasn't exactly unused to the sensations of the aftermath, the rather public arena made each whisper of fabric across his skin seem that much more intense.

He hoped Simon hadn't noticed, but as he forced himself back into the moment, he could see his reaction clearly wasn't lost on Simon either, who this time bestowed a wink on Elias. Christ, this better not cause problems later.

"They're lovely as always, Simon," Elias said. "But no, I was unfortunately dealing with business matters. And I'm afraid I'll have to steal Jon away from you as well. While he's new to his position, I do value his opinion, and I've found a few discrepancies I'd like him to examine."

Jon couldn't see Elias's face from his position. Not without turning his head, and making this even more terrifyingly intimate. But he could imagine his expression, one he'd seen often enough. Stern, serious, but with that edge of amusement that it'd taken Jon far too long to recognize. A humor he didn't particularly appreciate right now.

Still, even if Elias was trading innuendo at his expense, as long as it got him out of the room he wasn't going to complain. Hours of small talk with a myriad of important donors, their hungry eyes and unknowable expectations, had drained him. Mostly through stultifying conversation, though there were a few unnerving outliers like Simon, and he wasn't quite sure which was worse.

"I'm sure he's brilliant at examining...discrepancies, did you say?" Simon chuckled, and waved a hand in clear dismissal. "But don't mind me. Just do me sure to tell me how it went later." With that, he strolled over to another guest, leaving Jon in Elias's roaming hands.

"Stop that," Jon whispered, as Elias's hand crept to the back of his neck, rubbing gentle circles into the vertebra at the base of his neck.

"Apologies," Elias said, dropping his hand and taking a small step back and to the side, leaving a more appropriate distance between them as he faced Jon. "I do need to speak to you. I've been informed there might be some issues with our purchase. A competitor."

Right. Jon had almost forgotten why they'd originally come, the event had dragged on so long. An auction, Elias had said. Apparently, this was how these things often worked, when it came to the cursed artefact trade. Under table deals and back room bargaining, with Elias drifting in and out and leaving Jon in the clutches of countless overly familiar party guests.

"What's happened now, then? Still don't know what it is?" Despite his annoyance with the party, Jon couldn't keep the genuine curiosity out of his voice. Even with his increased trepidation over mysterious artefacts from equally mysterious sellers after certain recent incidents. Ones Elias hadn’t fully apologized for yet.

"No," Elias said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm afraid my usual sources have been surprisingly unforthcoming. I believe I'm going to have to resort to some, well.” He pressed his lips together, giving Jon a tight smile. “Let’s say some less conventional forms of reconnaissance."

"So you're leaving me again?" Even as he said it, he couldn't help but feel like a petulant child, whining about being deprived of attention. Or simply a clingy lover, which was more accurate but no more flattering. "I'm sorry, it's fine. Business and all."

Completely irrational, but now that Elias was acting properly like Jon's boss and not—well, there was no dancing around it, was there?—not his boyfriend, he felt even more irritated and wrong-footed than before. A feeling that must've reached his face, if the slight crease between Elias's eyebrows was anything to go by. Before Jon could say it was nothing, Elias's hand was on his elbow, guiding him out of the room.

Once in the corridor, he let Jon go, maintaining that obligatory distance of propriety that Jon was beginning to loathe, even as he recognized the necessity.

"Jon." Elias made an abortive gesture towards him, before dropping his arm to his side with a sigh. "I truly hadn't expected it to go this way. When I said I wanted us to spend more time together, I meant it."

"I know," Jon said, ducking his head slightly to avoid Elias's eyes. Except no, that was ridiculous. Of all the eyes he’d seen tonight, these were the ones he actually wanted on him. He looked up, and managed a tight smile. "It's not like I'm any better, missing our anniversary by getting caught up in a statement."

When Jon had only been a researcher, it had been different. Elias had warned him things would change, even if Jon scoffed at the time. After all, how much more work could it be? But then, he hadn't truly grasped the enormity of the mess Gertrude had left, or how much more work it would be, to not only deal with that, but three assistants. Some might have said Jon had an unhealthy relationship with work even before his appointment as Head Archivist. But many of those Saturday afternoons had been spent with Elias, in his office at the Institute.

“Things will eventually settle down again, Jon. When I told you becoming Head Archivist would be a significant undertaking, I didn’t mean forever. And while there have been some growing pains, I’ve so far been quite pleased with your work.” His face was serious as it always was when working, none of those private smiles, the flashes of comfort and amusement he shared with Jon. Much like it had been when they’d started working weekends together.

Elias had made it very clear working weekends wasn’t necessary, but Jon, well, he’d never had much of a social life anyway, and working at the Institute was the chance of a lifetime. It only made sense to spend more time there, and not walking the streets, searching through musty old bookstores, or scouring internet forums for scraps. Not when he had a wealth of knowledge at his fingertips, if only he could find it. And after he’d explained, Elias seemed to understand. In a way no one else ever had.

Instead of forcing Jon to leave, he’d mentioned he often worked Saturdays as well, and suggested Jon join him in his office. He had a small table off to one side to serve as a desk of sorts, and Jon had to admit, the company was appreciated. The Institute could often feel strange, when he was alone.

One thing had led to another. Dinner, perfectly friendly. A drink or two. A kiss, one late night outside the Institute. And their work Saturdays had continued. Still mostly work, but sometimes...sometimes other things intervened.

“I appreciate the feedback.” Jon winced as soon as he said it. What a ridiculous thing to say, except no, it was feedback, wasn’t it? About work, not their relationship. A muddled mess that only seemed to get more complicated each day. He sucked in a deep breath, letting his eyes fall shut. This time he didn’t try to stop Elias when he got closer, one hand resting lightly on the small of Jon's back under his suit jacket while the other tipped up his chin.

"Jon. Even if it is still technically work, I hoped spending time together—rather than rummaging through the Archives or rattling around our flat looking for spiders—might be restorative." He pressed an all too short kiss to Jon's lips, while his hand drifted lower to brush the curve of Jon's arse.

Jon bristled, though he made no attempt to pull away. "That was only one time, and I think I can be forgiven for my reaction. You saw the size of that thing, and I wasn't expecting to receive a giant spider in the post."

"You could've left the crate sealed." Which was exactly what Elias had said last time they'd had this argument, and while yes, it was technically true, he really couldn't blame Jon for being a bit curious about a large crate turning up. Particularly with Elias away at the Usher Foundation that week, and much harder to contact as a consequence.

Elias clearly noted Jon's mulish expression, because he laughed softly, and dug his fingers into Jon's arse. Laughing again when Jon yelped, and looked warily down the thankfully still empty corridor.

"Perhaps it wasn't fair to expect you to wait. After all, I'm not generally in the habit of ordering dangerous items. And I truly did expect only the book. Which I've told you multiple times is esoteric but utterly mundane. A study of the rituals of a small cult that arose among transported prisoners from Millbank Prison is not any sort of supernatural item itself. And the spider wasn't on the manifest." He chuckled. "Though perhaps a well-deserved warning about things better left unexplored."

"It's not funny, Elias. That thing was huge." Jon freed himself from Elias’s arms, and immediately regretted it as he darted another wary look down the corridor. But no, that was ridiculous. If there was some dread horror awaiting them, clinging to Elias certainly wasn’t going to save him. “And isn’t our mission to unearth all sorts of dread secrets? Even if they’re mostly fabrications.”

“Quite.” Elias stepped closer again, tipping Jon’s chin up with a finger. “And the spider was investigated by the RSPCA. Truly a fascinating specimen, and common in Australia, though not terribly dangerous.”

His lips brushed Jon’s, and Jon sighed into the brief kiss, not shrugging off the hand that slid to his shoulder when Elias pulled back.

“They sent their special containment unit, Elias. I don’t think they believed it wasn’t dangerous.”

“Because you mentioned you worked for the Magnus Institute. It’s standard procedure, Jon. Not an admission it was actually a monster spider. And,” Elias said, cupping Jon’s cheek with his other hand. “You’d recently read Mr. Vittery’s statement.”

Jon stiffened, the familiar tension of the old argument burbling up, and the spike of shame. It wasn’t even all that similar to his own experience, but it had been enough to send him on a tear through the Archives—completely off the record, of course—leaving Elias waiting for hours at the restaurant. But he’d apologized, and Elias had seemed to accept it, even if he’d told Jon to come to him first. Now wasn’t the time or place to do this again, but if Elias wanted to use it against him, then he certainly couldn’t blame Jon for saying his piece.

“I’m perfectly capable of distinguishing between a very real and potentially dangerous spider and a spider ghost, Elias.”

"I'm certain you are. My only point was that the statements can be...wearing on the psyche." He kissed Jon again to forestall his protest. "Believe them or not, Jon. They can bring up unpleasant associations. And old memories."

One hand slipped to the back of Jon’s head while the other moved to his back, guiding Jon gently forward. And Jon—well, he went, didn’t he? Allowing himself the brief luxury of burying his face in Elias’s neck, and drinking in the scent of his cologne. He hadn’t liked it at first, a bit too strong and far too pointlessly expensive. But much as with Elias himself, Jon had grown used to it. Learned to assign other meaning to it. Like comfort, and maybe even a brief moment of safety from the lingering terror he apparently didn’t quite have under control yet.

“I’m honestly still surprised you believed me about the book. I barely believe myself.” Jon laughed softly, but it sounded forced even to his ears.

“Leitners are well-attested, Jon,” Elias said as Jon lifted his head again. “And I’m not as skeptical as you are.”

“Have you had any luck locating it?” He still couldn’t quite believe Elias had agreed. A personal favor, he’d said, expecting Elias to refuse. But Elias had shaken his head, and looked at Jon solemnly across the desk, and said finding such items was the Institute’s top priority.

“No, I haven’t. That was, however, how I first got wind of the artefact we’re here to retrieve. Which might yet provide the lead we need.”

“Right.” Jon tried to remember what Elias had told him before. “Something that reveals hidden secrets? Which isn’t at all vague, and exactly the sort of artefact you’d make up to sell to the Magnus Institute.”

“Perhaps. Which is why I want to see it first, and I want your opinion. While I do have some doubts about your abilities to conduct delicate negotiations, your eyes are perfectly serviceable." He swept a finger under one eye. "Lovely, even."

"Stop it," Jon said, heart already speeding up just from that small touch. Christ, he was easy. "You don't need to flatter me into helping you."

"No." Elias glanced briefly down the corridor, then pressed a quick kiss to Jon's lips. "But I do enjoy doing so."

"You're—" Jon wished he weren't so easy to fluster. Particularly not with how irritatingly self-satisfied it made Elias. "We have work to do, then?"

"A treasure hunt," Elias said with a low laugh. "Follow me."

* * *

“When you said we were going to search for the artefact, this really—ah—this wasn’t quite what I imagined.”

The words fell flat even to Jon’s ears, as he jerked forward into the loose grasp of Elias’s hand. His head fell back on Elias’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. Trapped by the arm around his chest, the fingers tugging on his tie, keeping him pinned in place. Pinned to Elias.

“I also said I wanted to spend more time with you. And I thought you could use a break.”

Pressed against Elias, Jon could feel the words rumbling in his chest. A sound he’d always loved, Elias’s voice, though he could never quite pin down why. When he’d admitted it once in a moment of weakness, Elias had laughed and promised he’d make sure to continue talking.

“Yes, but not—” Jon gasped as Elias adjusted his grip, and slowly worked his hand along the length of Jon’s cock. “Not here.”

“You seem to be having a perfectly lovely time.” Elias undid the top buttons of Jon’s shirt with a dexterity Jon envied, slipping his hand into the gap to press his palm against Jon’s chest. And Christ, it would be that, a simple touch to make Jon give in. Relaxing slightly, ignoring the room around them to look up at Elias.

“You’re terrible,” Jon said, but he knew it lacked bite. Elias leaned his head down to meet Jon, the angle terrible, but it hardly mattered like this. And Elias had always been good at making the most of unfortunate situations.

“Trust me,” Elias said, when he broke the kiss. His hand moved from inside Jon’s shirt to grab his tie, hooking a finger into the overly complicated knot to pull Jon’s head up, and bring the room back into full view again.

Jon’s teeth dug into his bottom lip when Elias gave his cock a quick stroke. He dared to scan the room again, most of it still cast in darkness beyond their immediate surroundings. Which unfortunately contained a rather expensive looking rug, and a sofa only a foot away that had to be an antique.

“It’ll make a mess. Christ, Elias, do you really want to know what kind of gossip there would be?” A wave of nausea washed over him, imagining the catering staff, or the cleaners, or worst of all their hosts. Coming in here to stage food, or tidy up, or take a break of their own, and finding the unmistakable traces of this rather illicit encounter. It was already bad enough, the way people looked at him sometimes, had been looking at him at the party. The ones who just thought he was a favored protege. If they knew more—

Elias let out a low laugh, the sound of it reverberating through his chest and making Jon shiver. And yes, inflaming the arousal he couldn’t fight, not when Elias was now tracing a teasing finger along his cock. Which was somehow even worse than properly stroking it.

“I assure you, they’ve seen far worse than a little semen.” Elias ran a thumb over the head, smearing the precome with his fingers. “But I do take your point. We’ll make sure to be discreet.” With that, he pulled away from Jon, leaving him momentarily adrift in the dim room, lit only by the solitary table lamp Elias had turned on when they’d entered. Jon’s eyes flicked nervously to the heavy oak door, checking again even though he’d seen Elias lock it, before he turned to see what Elias was doing.

“Come here, Jon.”

Another lamp switched on to reveal Elias next to some sort of long, narrow table, positioned a few feet from the wall and draped with a heavy black velvet cloth. It didn’t look like a tablecloth, the fabric too plush, too thick to set things on. And even the idea of it sent prickles along Jon’s skin. Ridiculous as it was, he couldn’t help but imagine setting something upon it, only to watch as it sank deeper and deeper into the fabric. Engulfed, until there was nothing left. And then—

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the wild fantasy. He really needed to get more sleep. A need emphasized when he jumped as he caught motion out of the corner of his eye, only to spin around and realize it was just a mirror, capturing his own form in stark relief. And nothing else beside him.

“Do they really need so many bloody mirrors?” he grumbled, turning away and hurrying over to Elias. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite get the image out of his head. The slate blue suit, too bright for Jon’s tastes—but Elias had insisted, and insisted on paying for it as well. Perfectly put together, waistcoat and tie and crisp white shirt all picked out by Elias. And marring that attempt at elegance, Jon’s hard cock jutting from his trousers.

He stopped abruptly as he realized the table was now uncovered, the cloth draped haphazardly over the sofa, which remained blessedly and completely expectedly unconsumed. Leaving the plain wooden table revealed, topped with a mirrored serving tray, elegant gold handles to each side. And at the center of that, a silver platter.

“Hmm. Perhaps not. I believe the idea is that they’re supposed to induce guests to engage in purposeful reflection. To see themselves in a different light.” Elias held out a hand to Jon, which Jon took, letting Elias draw him closer. Just in time to catch him halfway through tucking his cock back into his trousers.

“Or perhaps,” Elias continued, as he stroked along the palm of Jon’s hand, “it’s to see each other from a new perspective.”

“Or maybe they just like making people feel self-conscious,” Jon muttered, looking above the serving table to find another mirror looming over him. His skin prickled, and he squinted at it, sure that again he saw something. Someone moving, watching them. A feeling he hadn’t been able to shake the whole time they’d been in the house, which had only intensified when they’d entered this room.

Elias’s hand tightened, pushing Jon’s fingers around his cock and drawing a moan from his lips. He looked from the mirror to survey the room outside their circle of light. Letting Elias guide his fingers along his cock, all while trying to determine if that hulking shape might be more than a high backed chair, or a long, thin shadow might be something besides a curtain.

“Jon,” Elias said, abruptly shifting their positions so Jon was held flush against his chest again. Facing the mirror, and blocking his view of the room behind them, beyond what he could make out on its surface. “Reading horror stories day in and day out can play tricks on the mind. It doesn’t mean there are monsters lurking in every shadow.”

“It’s not monsters I’m worried about,” Jon said, the sound turning into a gasp as Elias gave his cock a stroke. Distracting enough that he found himself nudged forward, until his thighs hit the table, making the platter rattle.

“Then you should be perfectly safe. There’s certainly no one else here.” Elias let out a low laugh, his breath hot on Jon’s neck. Jon shivered, and leaned closer. A move Elias rewarded with a press of lips, and the slide of his hand along Jon’s cock. Distracting, and annoying, and comforting all the same. “And even if there was someone watching, would that really be so terrible?”

“Yes,” Jon said, but the protest sounded unexpectedly weak on his lips. Would he enjoy it, being a lurid show for some unseen audience? Of course not. Yet when he tried to summon further argument, his throat tightened and burned.

Jon’s gaze found Elias’s, reflected in the mirror as he lifted his head again. Stern and piercing as always, too sharp for Jon to hold long. But not looking at Elias’s eyes wasn’t any better, not when it only meant he saw the whole picture. His darker blue suit, framed by Elias’s pale grey, the sharkskin weave shimmering slightly as he shifted, and ran his fingers down Jon’s cock again. And that too was on horrible display, arching up and leaking, jumping with every twitch of Elias’s palm.

What a humiliating performance he’d put on, if there were anyone here to see.

The image, the thought, was enough to turn his thoughts back to his earlier concerns, and he made a token struggle before sighing, and relaxing into Elias’s hold. Feeling the stirring of Elias’s own interest against his arse.

“How is this supposed to help? I don’t think messing up their furnishings is any better than their carpets.” Better to focus on that, the thrilled terror of this nascent fantasy. The only danger was evidence. There was no one to see.

“It’s a platter, Jon,” Elias said, inclining his head towards the item in question. “They’re designed to be easy to clean.” As he spoke, he adjusted the angle of his hand, making his intent quite clear. Jon swallowed hard, feeling his face heat and feeling utterly ridiculous like this, though he couldn’t fault the logic. It _was_ easier to clean.

“Clean with what?” he said, then gasped as Elias gave his cock a firm stroke.

“They’ve stored some additional supplies in here for the party. Do trust that I’ve thought this through.”

Before Jon could ask why exactly he’d have thought this particular assignation through, Elias drew his attention away again. His hand skimmed up Jon’s chest, stopping to unbutton the waistcoat, leaving it hanging open. Briefly pausing his progress to tweak one nipple, teasing it into hardness beneath the thin, light cotton, and making Jon squirm in his grip. Before finally going for the tie again, hooking a finger deep into the knot, worming between the complicated loops. It would be hard to dislodge; Jon wondered if that had been Elias’s intention.

Jon yelped as he felt a nip at his neck, a sound that turned into a moan as Elias sucked and nibbled on the bitten skin. All while keeping a firm grip on Jon’s cock, thumb running lightly over the skin.

“Fine,” Jon said, voice going high and breathless as Elias started to stroke in earnest. “They’re your donors, after all. You can explain any mess.”

“Happy to,” Elias said, “but I assure you. There won’t be anything to explain.”

He tugged on the tie, making Jon pitch forward slightly, jostling the table again. The muted clang from the platter drew his attention, the silver clear enough to show him a distorted reflection of the underside of his own cock. Entirely exposed, as Elias adjusted his hand again and ran his fingers along the sides, strange and uncomfortable and far too arousing for the simple thing it was.

Except no, it wasn’t quite clear, was it? A faint pattern was etched into the surface, the lines arching and curving across the surface. Maybe worn with age, or perhaps the subtlety was intentional. An understated elegance, that only drew the eye when you looked too closely, and found it was far more than it seemed.

Behind him, Elias shifted again, grinding against Jon’s arse and startling him out of his thoughts. Then he pushed Jon’s cock down until it was flush with the platter, the cool touch of the metal making Jon jump.

“What are you doing? That’s—” He swallowed, turning his head to the side to escape the sight of his own cock, and the feel of those faint etchings along the underside. “It’s hardly sanitary.” A weak argument, given he’d already all but agreed with Elias that he’d come all over it.

“The platter is clean,” Elias said, letting go of Jon’s tie to stroke along one side, and completely missing the point. Keeping Jon pinned between his body and the table. “Look, Jon.”

The command had more on an effect on him than he’d like to admit. As embarrassed as he was, he wanted to look. Wanted to see what Elias saw, how Elias looked at him. His gaze found the platter again, his cock laid out upon it, held there by Elias, while he continued to tease along the length with his other hand.

“This isn’t helping me relax,” Jon said, biting back a moan as Elias began to rub lightly with one finger just below the head. Jon wanted to look away, or no, that wasn’t quite right, was it? Though some part of him was still mortified, he didn’t want to look away. Could only keep staring as heat built in his cock, the metal warming under him, and precome leaked from the tip, dripping onto the platter and following the lines in its surface.

Elias ran his index finger through it, then his hand found Jon’s tie again, tugging at it before moving higher to wrap around Jon’s throat. Holding his head in place, pointing straight at the mirror.

“Look,” Elias whispered into his ear, nipping at the lobe while Jon helplessly obeyed his command. Eyes sweeping over his own body reflected, finery only making him look more debauched. A look that was enhanced as Elias’s index finger slipped between Jon’s lips, and Jon couldn’t help but suck on it. Tasting his own precome, which should be disgusting. Was disgusting, but with Elias still rubbing at that spot on his cock, that seemed such a distant problem.

“You’re so lovely like this. So sensitive, that I know you’ll come from just this, won’t you? Would that I had someone to show you off to.”

Jon moaned, hips jerking in vain into the table. Unable to do anything to increase the feeling or escape it. He knew he was close, could feel himself tightening, the sharp pleasure building to a height in his cock, even with only that small point of electric sensation.

“Don’t stop watching,” Elias murmured.

And Jon wouldn’t, couldn’t stop as he saw his own body shudder, watched and felt at once as he tipped over the edge, come spurting onto the platter. Moaning around Elias’s finger, trembling as Elias continued to stroke that damned spot, even as his cock softened, still pinned to the surface. In the heat of the moment, his gaze slid down again, throat tightening. The lines seemed deeper, impossible as it was. And less abstract, the swirls and curves shaped into ovals, with circles at their center. Eyes. Looking back at him.

And then he heard the clapping.

At first, he thought he must be imagining it, but it only continued, and it couldn’t be Elias, not with how much he was wrapped around Jon. Jon’s blood curdled as he stared into the mirror, where a figure was now entering their circle of light. A man, husky and bearded, dressed in a black suit that only highlighted the eerie pallor of his skin. A guest, in here the whole time? But why hadn’t he said anything before now? Why the applause? Though Jon supposed the last had a clear, sickening explanation. A voyeur, happily enjoying the show.

And hadn’t that been what he wanted? A fantasy realized into a harsh reality he wasn’t sure how to grapple with. So many eyes on him, watching and hungering and he didn’t know what they wanted. Didn’t know what this man wanted.

Why did some part of him want to find out?

He tensed, caught between a desire to flee and to ask, only to have the choice taken from him as Elias’s hand covered his mouth. His arm encircled Jon’s waist, holding him close as he turned them both to face their unexpected audience.

“Peter. I didn’t see you there.”

“Eyes going in your old age? I expected better of you. But then I do see you have quite the distraction.” The man—Peter—raked his eyes over Jon, mouth stretching into a leer as he stopped to stare at Jon’s still exposed cock.

Whatever games Elias was playing, this was too much. The final straw in a night of events that had left Jon reeling, unmoored from the steady certainty Elias usually brought. Jon reached up, grabbing Elias’s wrist and dragging his hand away from Jon’s mouth. Then he wriggled out of Elias’s grip, turning to him, red faced and torn between anger and pure mortification.

“Elias, who is that?” he hissed, searching Elias’s eyes for any sign he found this the least bit upsetting. “You know him?”

“Yes.” Elias reached up to push a lock of hair off Jon’s forehead. “He’s, hmm. I supposed you could call him an old friend. And his family are prominent donors.”

“Good lord.” As if this couldn’t get any worse. Not just a voyeur, but someone important. Someone they presumably couldn’t offend, just like all the people Jon had met tonight. “Should I leave, then? Let you, well, let you sort things out?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Peter called out. “I’d much prefer you stayed. That was quite the show, and I wouldn’t mind an encore.”

Jon’s hands curled into fists, and he whirled around, not even caring about his state of undress. After all, Peter had already seen it all, hadn’t he? It could hardly get worse.

“It wasn’t for you. If we’d known you were there—” His eyes narrowed, focusing in on Peter’s smiling lips, before darting to his pale blue eyes. “Have we met?”

“I just have one of those faces,” Peter said blandly, still smiling that empty smile.

A hand grasped Jon’s shoulder, tightening in warning.

“If we’d known you were there, we would have, of course, made sure our presence didn’t bother you,” Elias said.

“You know me. Not a bother at all. Though I wouldn’t mind an invitation to join in.” He winked at Jon, chuckled when Jon sputtered.

“Quite.”

Jon opened his mouth to tell Peter where exactly he could shove his invitation, only to be silenced by a warning shake.

“Will you give me a moment to speak with Jon?” Elias continued.

“Certainly,” Peter said, grinning widely. “I’ll be out in the corridor. Don’t take too long!”

He gave a little wave, and sauntered towards the door, Jon following his every move until he was securely on the other side.

Then he turned back to Elias again, and grabbed his lapels. Giving the smug bastard a shake of his own as Jon finally got his chance to speak.

“What was that? Did you know he was there? And you’re not considering—” His storm churned at the thought of what Peter was proposing, but not all together unpleasantly. It was wrong, wasn’t it? That the more he thought of it, the more he liked the idea of being watched—and more—by this complete stranger. Though he could do without the commentary.

“Certainly not,” Elias said, and Jon’s shoulders slumped in what had to be relief. What couldn’t be disappointment.

“Or at least not if you don’t want to,” Elias continued, his hand trailing down Jon’s chest. Tugging out the ends of his shirt while Jon couldn’t do more than gape. “I’ll admit, this wasn’t part of my original strategy to improve donor relations, but there is an undeniable appeal to it.”

“An appeal?” Jon repeated, mind still trying to catch up to exactly what Elias seemed to be proposing.

“Yes. Sharing you with another.” He undid the last button of the dress shirt. “Seeing you taken apart, by hands other than my own.” Another button, then a third, taking a moment to skim along Jon’s stomach, stopping just above his cock. “Or in addition to my own.” One finger found its way under Jon’s chin. Forcing his gaze back to Elias, as his head was tipped back. “Knowing that in the end, whoever looks upon you, you belong to me.”

Breath ghosted across his lips, letting the words hang there for a moment, before Elias brought their mouths together, and wrapped his hand around Jon’s cock. Swallowing his moan as Elias worked the oversensitive length of it, drinking in each shuddering gasp as Jon swayed against him. Knowing he’d already lost the argument, and not sure there was any argument to be had in the first place.

“I—” He licked his lips, tasting the faint traces of whatever expensive wine Elias had drunk earlier than night. “Right. That’s…”

How did you agree to have a threesome with your boyfriend—boss—Elias, and someone you just met? What was Jon even supposed to do, supposed to say? He stared up at Elias, grip tightening on his lapels, silently pleading for Elias to find the words for him.

“Given Peter’s rather…interesting sense of humor, I have an idea I think might please him.” Elias’s gaze darted over to the platter, and Jon followed it helplessly, wincing as he was reminded of the mess he’d left. They’d left; Elias was certainly responsible, arguably more so than Jon. “A way we might have you both on a silver platter, if you can forgive the cliche.”

“If I’m forgiving anything, it will be a cliche.” Jon gave Elias a little shake, and took a steadying breath. Finding that it seemed to be working now, the familiarity of the mundane wordplay Elias was far too fond of almost comforting. “And don’t pretend you don’t find it funny. You were already clearly very pleased with yourself earlier, when you, well. You know.”

He trailed off, feeling ridiculous but unable to say the words. Earlier, when you decided to lay out my cock like some sort of sculpture, or a particularly prize cut of meat. Though that latter thought was unpleasant enough Jon was glad he hadn’t managed to voice it.

Though not as unpleasant as the memory of what he’d seen on the platter, or thought he’d seen. But no, his mind was playing tricks on him. And the light was strange, and they had been watched. Whatever was going on, however mortifying it was, it was far too natural.

“I do know,” Elias said. “And I’ll admit, it does amuse me. And far more than that.” He caught Jon’s hand in his, and brought it to his own cock, still hard and straining in his trousers.

“I get the point,” Jon said, looking away and back at the platter. Christ, this was really happening, wasn’t it? “I have to say, this isn’t quite how I expected the event to go.”

“Neither did I. But I do hope you’re finding it enjoyable.”

“Not as enjoyable as you,” Jon said, stroking rather pointedly along Elias’s cock, and relishing the brief crack in his placid expression.

“Perhaps.” He smiled, and finished undoing the buttons on Jon’s shirt, letting it fall open to reveal Jon’s bare chest. He promptly took advantage, reaching under to drag his nails over Jon’s nipple and laughing softly when Jon gasped. “Though I wouldn’t be making any judgments about enjoyment yet. Now, why don’t we get you out of those clothes?”

* * *

Far too short a time later found Jon down a suit and dubiously regarding the platter. It seemed entirely ordinary now, with the etching just the abstract design that he was sure he remembered seeing at the start of their illicit assignation. It really had only been nerves making him jump. That was all.

And the platter was just a distraction. Staring at it wasn't going to change the reality waiting for him just outside the door. Or the one running Jon's tie through his hands.

“Please tell me you're not thinking about tying me up.” Once, the thought likely wouldn't have occurred to him. But his...association with Elias had changed his perspective on a number of things. Such as the appropriate—or inappropriate—uses of ties. 

When Elias put a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle push, Jon sighed and turned around, crossing his arms dutifully behind his back. It wasn't like he particularly minded anyway, even if he still felt a bit absurd doing this here. Though he couldn’t quite suppress a not at all unpleasant shiver as the smooth fabric slid over his skin, Elias wrapping the tie over and around his wrists to leave his arms bound and the back of his hands resting against the top of his arse.

“You look lovely,” Elias said, running a hand down Jon's back and giving the knot a tug before coming around to stand in front of him.

“Oh, stop it," Jon said, turning to face him and hating how flushed he knew his skin was. "That doesn’t—” He tugged pointlessly at the binding, and focused on Elias. Who was likely far too impressed with himself. Of course he was. “I do know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing, exactly?” Elias said, not bothering to hide his amusement as he placed a finger under Jon's chin to tip his head up.

“Trying to flatter me into doing what you want.” Put like that, it only made Jon's stomach squirm more. More an admission than an accusation, wasn't it.

“Trying? I rather think I succeeded," Elias said, not bothering to assuage any remaining pride Jon might have. "And that I’m not the only one who wants.”

He grasped Jon's shoulder firmly in one hand, and trailed his fingers down Jon’s chest as he leaned in. Jon proved him right again by tipping his head back, giving Elias the access he clearly wanted. His teeth dug into Jon’s neck, nipping and sucking along one side as Jon's hands flexed helplessly behind his back, and his cock stirred with interest again.

"You're not starting the fun without me, are you?"

Jon jumped, but any attempt to answer the interruption was cut off by a far too loud moan as Elias dug his teeth into the juncture of Jon's shoulder and his neck.

"You're like a bloody vampire," Jon said breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut as his cock twitched. With any clothing left, he might’ve been able to hide his own blatant interest. Though not from Elias, who smiled into Jon’s skin and pressed himself closer.

Fingers gripped Jon's hair, pulling his head back further until he could see the face of the man who'd interrupted them. Pale skin and eerie blue eyes, in all ways chilling and completely unremarkable. "Normally I prefer to be ignored, but I'm afraid right now I do need your attention."

Elias lapped at the skin for a moment, before lifting his head to smile at the man.

"Peter."

Jon blinked up at the blandly smiling man, trying to clear the fog that seemed to have suddenly descended. Peter. Right, that was his name. Elias had said it before. How had he forgotten? But no, he was just a bit distracted. A problem not helped at all by Elias, whose hand had continued its path down Jon’s torso and was now lightly brushing his cock.

"Decided to go along with my plan, then?” Peter said, placing a rather presumptuous kiss on Jon’s forehead while continuing to grip Jon’s hair. “I do hope so. My other idea isn't nearly as fun."

"Other idea? What is he talking about?" Jon tried to pull free, but Peter's grip only tightened, sending sparks of pain skittering along Jon's scalp and forcing him into stillness. Or at least as still as he could be, with Elias’s fingers and his overpriced suit teasing Jon’s cock.

"A wager. Or so I assume. I'm as ignorant as you are to the specifics. Would you care to enlighten us, Peter?" Elias lifted his head, and took a step back. Which brought a cessation to his teasing, but brought with it a sudden panic at being left in Peter’s none too gentle grasp.

"Certainly!" He gave Jon's head a little shake, then let go, sending Jon stumbling towards Elias's waiting arms. "A simple enough contest, with your lovely new Archivist at the center."

Elias wrapped an arm around Jon’s back, slipping it under his bound arms and letting Jon settle against his chest. Having his back to Peter wasn’t ideal, but right now it felt like the less vulnerable position to be in. He just needed a minute to regain his balance, drinking in Elias’s familiar scent as Elias rubbed circles into his spine.

"I know it's difficult for you,” Elias said, “but unfortunately neither of us have unlimited time. So please overcome your natural tendencies, and get to the point." His fingers stilled, digging to Jon’s spine and making Jon press closer as he struggled to understand what the hell was going on. A problem that Elias at least seemed to share, for once.

"Ah, yes. Well, you know. Being direct is so...tiring. Though I suppose you wouldn't agree, would you? You can be frightfully direct when you're so inclined."

"Peter," Elias said warningly. Jon’s lips twitched up into a small smile.

"Right, right. It's simple enough: whoever comes first, wins. You take his mouth, I take his arse, and a good time is had by all."

Jon yelped as a hand smacked across his arse, turning his head to glare at Peter, who must have crept close during the conversation.

“And what a lovely arse it is. I see Elias bestowed some rather fetching marks upon it before the party. Really, you’re quite the courteous host,” Peter continued, giving Elias a wink that reminded Jon uncomfortably of Simon Fairchild. And the other guests, who couldn’t seem to keep their eyes off of him.

He wanted to say he hated the attention. And he did, or at least part of him did. But he couldn’t deny that thrill that ran through him when Elias ran a gentle hand over his hair and said, “He makes an exceptional canvas.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Jon glared at Elias, ignoring Peter for the moment. “What is he talking about? Wins what?”

Another smack fell on his arse, targeted for a spot where the belt had hit particularly hard. Jon couldn’t stop the breathless moan that spilled from his lips, but he could at least refuse to look at Peter this time, keeping his gaze fastened on Elias. Not that it seemed to discourage Peter from speaking.

"Why, didn't Elias tell you the item you're after is contested? How terrible. But I do understand. Other ways of contesting it are so...messy.” This time, when his hand went to Jon’s arse, it remained there, fingers digging hard into the smarting flesh. “So I thought, why not this?"

Jon closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and trying to focus past the combating sensations of Peter cruelly feeling up his arse and Elias gently stroking his hair. It was too much, just like the party had been too much. What if he wanted to escape? Would he be thwarted again?

"Jon?" Gentle fingers traced his cheek, and when Jon opened his eyes, he found Elias staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

"I—I'm not sure I can do it, Elias.” 

"You don't need to do anything, Jon. Beyond being as wonderfully receptive as you always are. Beyond that, it's up to me." Elias leaned in, kissing Jon slowly and deeply, seeming to pull a bit of the tension from Jon’s body as Jon moaned softly against his lips. “But we can leave, if you’d prefer.”

"I hope that mouth of yours is good for something other than talking,” Peter said. “In fact, maybe I should check myself. Get all nice and ready for your arse."

Jon took a shaky breath, trading one last look with Elias before extracting himself from his arms and turning to glare at Peter.

“Fine.” Jon dropped to his knees, glad Peter was close enough he didn’t have to walk. He wasn’t sure he could tolerate the indignity of careening into the expensive furniture, betrayed by his wobbly legs.

"Snippy, but goes down easy enough in the end, doesn't he?"

Before Jon could manage to retort, Peter's cock was pushing between his lips. Bigger than Elias's, but Jon could take it. As long as he remembered to relax. His eyes slipped shut, and he focused on breathing through his nose as Peter gripped his hair and dragged Jon onto his cock.

"Impressive," Peter said, as his cock hit the back of Jon's throat. "Had a lot of practice, then?"

Jon sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, gagging as he lost his calm and reared back. Luckily, Peter seemed happy enough to let him go, chuckling as Jon sputtered and wiped his mouth.

"Satisfied?" Jon asked, struggling to his feet.

"Oh, not yet. And I don't think you are either." Peter nodded at the table.

Jon rolled his eyes, and went over to it with more confidence than he truly felt. The platter and mirrored serving tray were still there, and he couldn't help but think the platter in particular wasn't going to make the most comfortable surface to lie on. Though he supposed that might be the point.

A hand smacked his arse lightly, and Jon yelped, turning back to see Peter grinning at him.

"Admiring your reflection?"

"No," Jon said, taking the push to get over his trepidation and lying down over the platter. He hissed at the cold metal pressing to his skin, squirming around to find a slightly more comfortable position. Hands gripped his hips, shoving him forward as he felt a cock brush his bound hands.

He looked up at the mirror on the wall, then frowned as Elias stepped in front of it. For a moment, he could've sworn there was nothing behind him. Which was impossible, when he could feel thick, calloused fingers digging into his arse cheeks, pulling them apart obscenely.

Probably just a trick of the light, or his mind showing him what he expected. Like seeing a cat where there wasn't one. Still, he almost wanted to ask, chewing on his lip as he considered then rejected bringing it up. Peter would probably deflect any questioning, and while he didn't expect the same from Elias, he wasn't sure he wanted to admit what might be another example of an overactive imagination influenced by his new position. Not when Elias had already expressed some concerns about undue jumpiness.

So instead he focused on Elias himself, watching as he deftly opened his trousers to pull out his half-hard cock. Likely the erection Jon had felt before had faded in the intervening chaos. Hopefully not enough that it would give Elias a disadvantage in the apparent competition this had turned into.

"I see you keep this one better disciplined," Peter said. Jon hissed in pain as Peter dug his fingers into a lingering bruise on Jon's arse.

"That's not—" Jon stumbled over the protest, flushing with humiliation. Was he really going to explain to a complete stranger that actually, he found it enjoyable? Relaxing, even? Particularly one as discomforting as this one, who might use that knowledge in ways Jon shied away from contemplating.

"Peter," Elias said, stepping closer to Jon and running gentle fingers through his hair. His cock brushed Jon's cheek, and Jon found himself turning towards it, tongue darting out to lick.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't need details. Though I do have one more request. I'm finding there are rather too many eyes involved for my taste. As you know, I am a bit shy."

Jon snorted. Even having just met Peter, he wasn't sure shy was the word he'd use. Evasive, perhaps. Frustratingly vague, and deeply annoying. But as he looked up at Elias, he only saw a small smile on his lips. His hands left Jon, going to the tie around his own neck, undoing it and pulling it down.

"Will this do?" Elias said, bringing it to Jon's face, the silky fabric brushing lightly against his cheek. While the question was nominally directed at Peter, his eyes were on Jon. A clear opening to refuse, no matter what Peter wanted. Jon's stomach squirmed, and despite how strange and unmoored he felt, there was something nice. To see Elias still had him in mind, first and foremost.

He nodded just as Peter also agreed. The fabric slipped over his eyes, the knot tied to one side to allow the thickest part to cover his eyes. It was hardly the snuggest fit, not really designed for this sort of thing. But even with the light peeking out at the edges, and the glimpses of the room he could make out, it was still very effective. Cutting him off, so that he started when Elias's hand found his head again, and tilted it gently up.

"If you're ready to begin?" His cock brushed Jon's lips, and again Jon's tongue darted out to taste it.

"Ready if you and your Archivist are. Well, assuming he can take this. I'll admit, I don't have much but spit handy."

"Jon can take more than you might imagine." His fingers stroked fondly along Jon's cheek, other hand still holding tight in Jon's hair. Preventing him from ducking his head in instinctive embarrassment. It wasn't that Elias was wrong, just...hearing something like that talked about to a stranger made him somehow feel more exposed than the physical reality of the experience.

"Brilliant," Peter said. "Let's begin, then."

The tip of his cock nudged at Jon's hole, just as Elias's cock slipped between Jon's waiting lips. Even with the blindfold already blocking his sight, Jon let his eyes slip shut, forcing himself to relax. Though it was harder with Peter now pushing inside. Bigger than Elias, though hardly the biggest thing Jon had taken. But that had usually been with more prep, and in significantly more comfortable circumstances.

The combination was enough to make Jon tense despite his best efforts, only making the stretch more noticeable. But Peter didn't stop. If anything, he seemed to be encouraged by it, pushing deeper as his hands tightened on Jon's hips. Jon moaned, not sure how much was pleasure and how much was sudden pain. Though the distinction mattered far less than he'd care to admit.

Unlike Peter, Elias seemed inclined to go slow, the head of his cock teasing its way along Jon's tongue. Not at all hard to take, and comforting in a way that was almost more shameful than the way Peter's hands digging in with bruising force made his cock jump. Dragging him to languid weekend afternoons where they both went into the office. Elias always had more work than Jon, and would ask if Jon would prefer to go home.

At first, he had. But one warm summer afternoon, sun streaming through his window, he'd made another suggestion. Sliding back from his desk, and gesturing at the spot under it. Curious and uncertain, Jon had crawled under. Letting Elias's cock into his mouth, and just remaining there. Warm and close and comfortable, his initial, kneejerk humiliation fading as his whole body warmed, pressed to Elias. And he sucked absently on his cock, drinking in the intimacy of it. The trust.

"Good," Elias murmured, thrusting shallowly into Jon's mouth as his cock slowly swelled. A gentle presence, in sharp contrast to the intrusion in Jon's arse, the low ache of it as Peter bottomed out with a low groan. A sound Jon echoed with a moan of his own.

"Not bad," Peter agreed. "Though your Archivist might be enjoying it a bit too much." He laughed, one of his hands leaving Jon's hips to run over his now all too hard cock.

Jon moaned again, trying to ignore the heat the sensation brought. All too aware of what would happen if he gave into his own arousal. Christ, he should have asked Elias about that before. Even if Peter didn't touch him, it might be too much. His hands flexed, and he made a small noise around Elias's cock. One Elias seemed to understand, as he stroked Jon's hair.

"I'm sure Jon can keep himself under control." He drew a finger along Jon's lips, slipping it inside alongside his cock and stretching Jon's lips the slightest bit further.

"Hmm. If you say so. I do suppose I can help as well. Wouldn't want to ruin Simon's antique rugs, after all." Something seemed to change about the fingers along his cock, though not in a way Jon could quite name. As if they were suddenly colder, but not cold in any normal sense. More a gentle anesthetic than a biting numbness, the sensation seeming to recede. And not just the presence of Peter's fingers, but his own cock.

As absurd as it was, he had a moment of panic that his cock was somehow gone. It made no sense, wasn't possible, at least not without a good deal more than a simple brush of fingers. But the momentary feeling of absence was all too real, in a way that made Jon writhe, inadvertently forcing Peter deeper even as Elias slipped out from between his lips.

"It looks like your Archivist wants me to win," Peter said, sounding a bit breathless for the first time. Jon’s surge of gratification was immediately followed by panic. Jon didn't want Peter to be breathless, not if they were to win the damn wager. He opened his mouth wider, and Elias took the clear invitation to slip back inside.

And his cock most definitely was still there. Peter gave it another little stroke, and Jon could feel it. But the sensation was oddly dulled, more like he'd stroked along the back of Jon's hand.

If Jon's mouth had been free, he might've asked, even knowing he probably wouldn't like the answer. Frustratingly vague, or terrifyingly honest. Maybe it was simply psychological.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be working. Peter pulled out until it felt like only the tip was breaching Jon's hole, before he thrust in again with brutal speed. The angle just right to hit Jon's prostate, intensifying his now uncannily directionless arousal.

But Peter wasn't the only thing he had to worry about, or even the main one. The most important point of focus was Elias, and winning. Despite Elias knowing Jon could easily take so much more, that yes, he even enjoyed doing so, he continued to only tease his mouth. Barely inches inside, the head of his cock sliding along Jon's tongue in short bursts.

But maybe that was the point. Jon hollowed his cheeks, curling his tongue in just the way he knew Elias liked. And he knew it worked, from the subtle tightening of Elias's fingers in his hair, the slight stuttering in his steady rhythm.

"You're not going to win like that," Peter said, as he drove in hard enough to make the platter below Jon slip on the serving tray. An issue Elias smoothly correctly by placing a hand on Jon's shoulder, pushing him back a bit and holding the tray. "You really have gone soft, haven't you?"

Jon clenched around Peter, unable to stop himself from reacting to an insult he barely understood. It was the wrong thing to do, making Peter groan and thrust harder into Jon, in case he had any doubt he was helping the enemy. Maybe he didn’t know what the argument was; he still wanted to win.

Whether from Peter's comment or Jon's reaction, Elias seemed suddenly inclined to move into greater action. In one smooth movement, he thrust into Jon's throat, and Jon took him gladly, swallowing gratefully around him. So deep now that the open edges of his trousers brushed Jon's cheeks, his suit jacket rubbing against Jon's ear as he continued to thrust shallowly into his throat.

It was hard to breathe like this, and Jon knew he couldn't keep it up forever. Particularly not with Peter increasing his speed, his hands now digging into Jon's arse cheeks, thumbs pressing into the welts and angling Jon exactly to his pleasure. His own cock remained in that oddly removed state, but his arousal still continued to increase, sharp sparks as Peter hit his prostate again and again, only heightened by the loss of air from having Elias deep in his throat.

Distantly, he knew he was moaning, the vibrations clearly affecting Elias, but even that became a distant concern as Jon started to drift. His chest tightening, lungs struggling against the loss even as he sucked in air as best he could through his nose. With anyone else, he might've been terrified. Even with Elias, the fear Elias might not stop still had a sharp edge that only heightened the experience, the prickling of pain and pleasure that suffused his body.

Something seemed to crack, and for a moment, he could see. Not Elias, not the floor or anything he should be able to. But his own body, laid out for display, for use. Damp with sweat, rocking back and forth between two forces, mouth open and lips red, arse cheeks and legs spread wide and wanton. Hands bound at his back, the trailing ends of the vivid blue fabric bright against his skin.

And he was completely alone. Used by no one, by nothing, bringing no one pleasure and not allowed release, caught on the edge. A new kind of terror clawed at his chest, that this would never end, could never end. His sole existence was this, unneeded and unwanted and unable to be anything to anyone real.

“Watch, Archivist.”

The voice sounded like Elias, but removed of warmth. It was a command, one Jon found he couldn’t disobey. So he watched as his body was racked with pleasure, with terror, and saw that he was not alone. The room was filled with eyes upon eyes, reflected and refracted in the many mirrors. They pressed down on him, and he squirmed under their weight, struggling to fill his lungs with anything except his steadily building panic. For a moment, he wished for a return to that brief, terrible moment of unimportance. Of anonymity.

But that wasn’t what he was meant to be.

He met the myriad stares. Looked into the unblinking depths. Saw a door; knew a place. Where terror still clung in sticky threads, and no one was ever enough.

Then air returned, sudden and sharp, leaving Jon gasping and struggling as Elias pulled back, trailing strands of the quickly blurring vision. He hadn't come, and as mad as he knew it was, if Jon's hands were free, he would've reached to drag Elias back. Though he was no longer sure if it was to win, or for the pleasure, to see if that terrible vision returned again.

But before he even tried to find his voice again, he felt fingers dig harder into his skin, and a sudden cessation of the heavy weight of nothing entering his hole. No, not nothing. Peter, coming inside him.

His head drooped, and fingers brushed briefly over his scalp. But he could hear Elias's footsteps, the rustle of his suit as he moved away from Jon.

Shame welled, though he couldn't name its source. What he'd agreed to? Or his failure. Or worst of all, how much he'd enjoyed it—though the low ache of heat remained caught, directionless even now, as Peter slowly eased out.

"Looks like I've won then. Do be careful of the mess."

The emptiness he left behind was only momentary, as Jon realized why Elias had moved. His cock sliding in to replace Peter's, not quite as big but somehow more present. Jon shivered as his skin seemed to tingle, though Elias only held lightly onto his hips. The needle-like prickling reminded him of warming up from the cold, or a limb gone to sleep returning to painful wakefulness. And worst of all, it was concentrated in his cock.

The wave hit, and Jon jerked against the empty air. But that didn't matter. All the build from before, coalescing in his cock at once, left him on an edge he couldn't come back from. Elias wasn't even moving, simply filling Jon's hole, but Jon still shuddered around him, spurting onto the floor.

He tried to collect himself, breath coming in harsh gasps. Glad he was blindfolded now, if only so he could ignore the horrifying reality of what had happened a moment longer. Antique, Peter had said. God, Jon hoped he hadn't been right.

To his surprise, he felt a hand grasp his. The angle was a bit odd, but comforting all the same, and a comfort he clung to gratefully, even if he felt he didn't deserve it right now.

"You did wonderfully, Jon," Elias said.

Jon snorted, struggling against the surge of emotion. The urge to lash out, to hide, to do anything but face this. But he couldn't, not without hurting himself or Elias. And after his initial frustration, straining at the tie still pining his wrists, he found he was grateful for it.

"I'm sorry, Elias. I—I know the artefact was why we came here, and I'll admit I still don't understand why you agreed, but I—"

"Simon's had worse on his rug. And you did nothing wrong." Elias rubbed soothing circles into Jon's hip. Still not moving, though his mere presence was enough to make Jon's breath hitch with every minor adjustment of position, still oversensitive from an orgasm delayed too long.

"I planned on losing," he continued. "I anticipated Peter might interfere, due to some lingering resentment on his part. The artefact itself is of no great import, but Peter doesn't know that. Thus depriving me of it suits his need for petty revenge."

"Revenge?” Jon couldn’t help the hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. None of this made sense, and maybe he was very much focusing on the wrong thing. Particularly given the state he was still in, overwhelmed and speared on Elias’s cock in some absurdly expensive mansion.

“A former employee caused some trouble for Peter’s business dealings. The employee in question was terminated, but despite this, Peter still feels slighted. I hoped this concession would help assuage his wounded pride. A simple enough matter.”

His hand ran gently over Jon’s hair, tugging at the tie gently until it was free. Allowing Jon to meet his own eyes in the mirror, to glimpse what a mess he was. Though—he’d already seen that, hadn’t he? But only his imagination, only the fantasized weight of eyes on him. He shuddered, then gasped as Elias thrust into him.

The movement pushed Jon forward, and he realized with a start the surface below him was smooth. The platter was gone. “Elias, where…?” He trailed off, feeling absurd for asking. What did it matter anyway? But it was disconcerting, knowing he’d been so out of it he hadn’t noticed its removal.

“Perhaps Peter thought Simon owed him as well.” Elias laughed softly. “He does love a good disappearance.” Elias’s fingers moved to tug the corner of Jon’s reddened lips. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate your own contribution to the ruse,” Elias continued, fingers moving to tug at the corner of Jon’s reddened lips. “You were magnificent.”

Jon struggled for words, struggled against the shame that was slowly draining away, replaced by a memory of something else he couldn’t quite grasp. What he was meant to be. It didn’t make sense. And then there was that other part, all too familiar sensation crawling across his skin. 

“Elias, I think I saw—” His teeth dug into his lip, biting back that dreadful image. It couldn’t be. There was no way he could just _know_ that, even if the stained red door—and not just that, but the address—burned vivid across his eyes. Waiting for another guest. Maybe waiting for him. But no, it was stress, and excitement, and stirred up memories. That was all. “Never mind.”

Jon’s gaze drifted to the door; Peter had left it open.

"Go on," Jon said. "Please."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I want—" He swallowed hard, and forced himself to meet Elias's eyes in the mirror. Finding an endless hunger there, one Jon knew was mirrored in his own eyes. "I want you to fuck me."

Even as Elias began to pick up the pace, slamming into Jon’s sensitive body and drawing desperate cries from his lips, Jon knew the shame would return eventually. The horror that he’d done this, even warmed as he was by the tantalizing memories of it. Because for this moment, he didn’t care if anyone saw.

He wanted to be beheld.


End file.
